The Feminine Other: The Representation of Female Characters

in Cao Wenxuan's Male Coming-of-Age Novels

Lisa Chu Shen

The Lion and the Unicorn, Volume 42, Number 3, September 2018, pp.
281-301 (Article)

Published by Johns Hopkins University Press

DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/uni.2018.0028

For additional information about this article

https://muse.jhu.edu/article/722895

[101.44.83.12] Project MUSE (2024-03-14 05:42 GMT) Shanghai International Studies University
 The Feminine Other: The Representation of
Female Characters in Cao Wenxuan’s Male
Coming-of-Age Novels
Lisa Chu Shen

The coming-of-age novel, known traditionally as the Bildungsroman in

the European context, which portrays the hero’s maturation into adult-
hood, is defined and understood differently across time and cultures. The
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Chinese coming-of-age narratives, commonly referred to as chengzhang

xiaoshuo,1 share many affinities with their European counterparts.2 More
than other narratives of development, the coming-of-age story, in portray-
ing the protagonist’s rite of passage into adulthood, prioritizes the process
of psychological maturation over physical growth.3 This emphasis on the
protagonist’s inner life is shared by Chinese and Western narratives. Psy-
chological and physical maturation, however, do not always occur at the
same pace, thus we have “precocious children” and “immature adults.”
When we speak of coming-of-age in terms of the transition into adult-
hood, in what sense is the term “adulthood” invoked—biological, legal, or
psychological? How do we name the novel of development where a child
achieves a considerable degree of inner maturity through his/her interactions
with the world, without actually arriving at adulthood in biological and/
or legal terms? The male development novels authored by Cao Wenxuan,
arguably the most celebrated children’s writer in China and the winner of
the 2016 Hans Christian Andersen Award, have dealt sensitively with the
protagonist’s personal struggles and the attendant processes of psychological
maturation against and within the immediate social surroundings, exhibiting
the dynamic relationship between sociality and individuality, or between
mobility and interiority (Moretti 4), which is a central characteristic of the
Bildungsroman. While some of his novels feature male adolescents who,
by novel’s end, enter into adulthood both physically and psychologically,
others portray characters who, despite having developed a lucid sense of

The Lion and the Unicorn 42 (2018) 281–301 © 2019 by Johns Hopkins University Press
282 Lisa Chu Shen

reality and achieved a considerable degree of psychological maturity, can

hardly be called adults in terms of biological age. One of the four selected
novels discussed in this essay falls flatly into this latter category. Neverthe-
less, we can refer to all of them as coming-of-age stories due to the relentless
focus on the emotional, psychological, and intellectual maturation of the
protagonists and an awareness of the social and institutional constraints on
individuals. Cao’s narratives inevitably trace the changes in the protagonists’
mindsets and outlooks on life as they experience the vicissitudes of growth
and negotiate their way through the larger social and historical contexts in
which they find themselves.
In the Western literary context, Roberta Trites contends that contemporary
young adult literature as a whole “very self-consciously problematizes the
relationship of the individual to the institutions that construct her or his
subjectivity,” and that the basic difference between a children’s and an ado-
lescent novel lies with the way in which the latter tends to foreground “the
relationship between the society and the individual rather than focusing on
Self and self-discovery as children’s literature does” (20). Trites’s emphasis
on the social-institutional dimension and how it both represses and empow-
ers adolescent protagonists lends useful perspectives to our thinking about
contemporary adolescent novels in general and coming-of-age narratives in
particular. The most compelling adolescent novels in Chinese, such as Cao
Wenxuan’s Bronze and Sunflower (Qingtong Kuihua, 2005, which actually
aims at readers above nine years of age), inevitably foreground the sufferings
and struggles of the individual in the larger social and historical contexts.
The emphasis on sociality may appear similar; the underlying assumptions
and rationales, however, could be very different. Trites’s theorizing is in-
formed by postmodern and poststructuralist thought on power, repression,
and subjectivity in late capitalism, which, she argues, has influenced, and to
a certain extent, brought into being the contemporary Western YA novel (16).
I contend, however, that contemporary Chinese YA coming-of-age narratives,
such as those by Cao Wenxuan, could be seen as responses to modernity
in twentieth-century China in the same way that the Bildungsroman in the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries was a response to Europe’s transitioning
into the modern era.
The focus of this essay is on the representation of female characters in the
four coming-of-age novels—Straw Houses (Cao Fangzi), Red Tiles, Black
Tiles (Hongwa Heiwa), Genniao, and Ximi.4 Cao’s novels, with Bronze and
Sunflower as an exemplary text,5 are known for their realist approach to the
human condition. Frequently set in his provincial home in the 1960s and 70s,
Cao’s stories recapture the landscape of rural China and portray the lives
of children and their paths to maturity, engaging beautifully and sensitively
 The Feminine Other 283

with the protagonists’ growing pains, the intricacies of human relationships,

and the individual’s place in society. How and in what ways are the female
characters represented vis-à-vis the male protagonists in the stories? What
roles do they play in the coming of age of the male characters? What do these
representations reveal about the texts’ gender politics? These are the ques-
tions we will explore. When it comes to adapting the gender perspective to
the coming-of-age story, the usual approach is to compare female and male
coming-of-age narratives, which often yield useful insights into gender ideolo-
gies in a specific time and place (e.g., Apol). The other approach—examining
the coming-age-age narrative for its representation of characters of the op-
posite sex of the protagonist—has been seldom pursued. It can, however, be
equally illuminating about existing assumptions of gender roles and relations.
Compared with contemporary Chinese children’s stories that intentionally
embrace conservative notions of femininity, gender, and sexuality, Cao’s
novels implicate conservative stances in a subtle and more skillful manner.
Unlike the self-consciously didactic approach adopted by some of his con-
temporaries, Cao does not seem to display an overt interest in advocating
heteronormative gender ideologies. Still, his novels may fall under what can
be aptly called “the politics of assent,” whereby authors reaffirm the status
quo through their writing but may not be conscious of what they are promot-
ing (Sutherland 155). Instead of advocating conservative values in a direct
or forthright manner, the politics of assent internalizes, affirms, and reifies
prevalent gender ideologies in the society. In Peter Hollindale’s terms, the
ideology transmitted in this manner can be classified as implicit or passive,
which, according to John Stephens, is “more powerful in effect” as it consists
of “values taken for granted in the society that produces and consumes the
text” (10). With regard to the representations of female characters, Cao’s
novels embrace what might be called “the classical beauty ideal,” which
valorizes physical beauty and fragility above anything else, equating them
at the same time with purity and inner goodness. Adolescent females are
frequently invoked as the objects of masculine instincts and desire against
which male identity and esteem are established. In this regard, Cao’s novels
are rather conservative in its representation of females as the Other.
We can argue, however, that the establishment of masculine identities in
Cao’s novels hinges paradoxically upon a simultaneous dissociation from
and identification with the female Other, mirroring the tensions in Cao’s
gender politics. As the novels reaffirm and perpetuate conventional notions
of femininity, they participate in constructing new forms of gender relations
enabled by the common thread of female mentorship and male-female bond-
ing, which in turn opens up possibilities for revising the prevailing notion
of masculinity. Alongside the adolescent females who are represented as
 284 Lisa Chu Shen

the objects of both desire and curiosity, there is the consistent presence of
adult female characters as wise intellectual mentors and positive influences
on the adolescent male. In all four novels, the process of male maturation is
inevitably accompanied by connection and bonding with the female Other on
different levels—emotional, psychological, and intellectual—which invites
questions, whether inadvertently or not, about the popular mode of male
mentorship and homosocial bonding that underlie patriarchal ideologies and
relations of power. The representation of female characters in Cao’s novels
thus points to the cultural anxieties in the continuous negotiations of male-
female relations in the contemporary Chinese society.

Female Characters and the Classical Beauty Ideal

Cao Wenxuan has a strong taste for literary classicism. In an oft-quoted

article titled “Eternal Classicism” (Yongyuan de Gudian), Cao laments that
modern fiction, characterized by apathy and callousness, has destroyed the
poetic and picturesque aesthetics characteristic of the classical novel, depriv-
ing it of tranquility and warmth. Fiction, he argues, can no longer shelter us,
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console us, or purify us (587–88). In a defensive tone, he asserts himself to

be a modernist in terms of rationality, but a classicist on the level of emo-
tionalism and aesthetics (590).
In terms of aesthetics in particular, Cao’s style is reminiscent of the Beijing
School of modern Chinese writers6 to whom he is reputed to be a conscious
successor. Parallels can be drawn between Cao and the renowned Beijing
School writer Shen Congwen (1902–88), for instance, in the poetic mood
of their novels, in their lyrical renderings of natural and rural landscapes,
and in a shared aesthetic insistence on recreating a sense of beauty through
tragedy. Interestingly, when commenting upon young female characters under
Shen’s pen, Cao writes:
Females are lovely, and those who still carry streaks of childlike immaturity
are even more so, for their entire bodies exude the gentleness, naivety and
purity desired by the human heart. The childlike innocence of female children
also helps to repress our evil desires. With their presence, the world becomes
a holier, purer, and more peaceful place. (156)7

What Cao has used to describe the young female characters in Shen’s works
can be similarly, and fittingly, turned to summarize his own construction of
femininity, as several critics have casually pointed out, without, however,
probing into the underlying logic or analyzing the inherent motivations (Fu
and Zhang 156; Yang 264). By “the human heart” Cao refers in actuality to
“man’s heart,” and females are accordingly viewed through masculine lens.
It seems that for both writers, females, especially female children, are more
 The Feminine Other 285

than mere gender representatives. They have been turned into a potent aes-
thetic symbol in the writers’ literary imagination. Placed within Cao’s own
discussion of eternal classicism cited above, female characters, especially the
young ones, represent the pure, the beautiful and the good that shelter and
console the human heart, a portrait seemingly rare in modern fiction. Such
a discourse evokes the romantic extolment of children as innately good and
innocent. Both Shen and Cao have conflated the romanticizing of childhood
innocence with the idealization of feminine beauty and goodness. It can be
argued that, like the adult fantasizing a childhood that mirrors the adults’ own
needs, desires and problems, the masculine fantasizing feminine goodness is
similarly attributable to the perceived lack of, and desire for, the gentleness
and comfort associated with the feminine. What makes the valorization pos-
sible in both cases, however, is the inherent difference and the hierarchical
power relations between the imagining subject and the object being imagined.
One important way in which Cao implements his classicist values is the
relentless pursuit of what might be called “the classical beauty ideal” embodied
in his female characters. By “classical beauty ideal,” I refer to the notion of
feminine beauty that consists of, but goes beyond, “classical beauty” (Gudian
mei in Chinese). In other words, whereas “classical beauty” (Gudian mei)
is valorized solely in physical terms, “the classical beauty ideal” combines
physical beauty, fragility, and delicateness with artistic flair and inner virtue.
Although some critics have associated “classical beauty” with Cao’s female
characters, their emphasis lies inevitably on the physical and aesthetic di-
mensions (Fu 13–14; Yang 264). To be sure, perceptions of feminine beauty
shifted throughout premodern Chinese history, and female virtue was too often
predicated on the absence of intellectual merit. But, in physical, temperamental
and moral dimensions, the ideal of feminine beauty in Cao’s novels can be
traced to the classical beauty model valorized in late imperial (Yuan, Ming
and Qing) Chinese literature, harkening back to such literary figures as Cui
Yingying from The Story of the Western Wing (Xixiang Ji) and Lin Daiyun
from Dream of the Red Chamber (Honglou Meng). Cao’s female characters,
however, are frequently victims of unfavorable life circumstances. Since they
are not the main characters in his male coming-of-age narratives, Cao seldom
delves into their inner thoughts and struggles. Through their suffering, these
females evoke images of beauty, vulnerability, and melancholia that cry out
for male attention, pity, and protection.
In Straw Houses, the protagonist Sang Sang develops a crush on Zhi Yue,
a little girl orphaned shortly after birth by her mother’s suicide and subse-
quently raised by her grandmother. The first time Sang Sang sees Zhi Yue,
she attracts his attention with a frightened look in her eyes:
286 Lisa Chu Shen

Sang Sang spotted her right away. She was startled by the sudden departure
of the pigeons. She clutched her grandmother’s arms tightly, with her neck
shrunk in and eyes half shut, fearing that the violent flapping of the pigeons’
wings might hurt her. (31)

The scene conveys an image of a vulnerable little girl who arouses in Sang
Sang subtle feelings of pity and affection. Zhi Yue is being transferred to
Sang Sang’s school for the new semester for reasons that are later revealed.
A pale, frail-looking little girl, she often seems to carry tears in her big dark
eyes. Her appearance gives off the impression that “she will remain such a
frail, quiet, innocent and gentle girl all her life” (38). Sang Sang is attracted
to Zhi Yue for precisely these qualities.
In Red Tiles, Black Tiles (hereafter Red Tiles), protagonist Lin Bing is
romantically drawn to Tao Hui, a pretty, petite, and gentle young girl in his
class. Narrated in the first person, the text lavishes attention on Tao Hui’s
physicality and her compliant personality as seen in Lin Bing’s eyes. In
Genniao, the delicate and fragile beauty of two young women, Qiu Man and
Jin Zhi, enthralls the main character, Genniao. He shows particular pity and
tender affection for Jin Zhi, who comes from a miserable background. This
obsession with classical femininity resurfaces in Ximi, where the fragility
of Mei Wen, who soon becomes the object of Ximi’s secret admiration, is
foregrounded at the very beginning.
Unlike hyper-femininity in its contemporary sense, which relies heavily on
the artificial modification, alteration, and improvement of the body, classical
femininity, arising out of the premodern Chinese context, valorizes natural
physical beauty, as opposed to its artificially constructed counterpart. Interest-
ingly, this “natural” dimension can be partly glimpsed through Cao’s tendency
to use metaphors from nature to describe his female characters: the young,
slim and graceful Bai Que is compared to “the phoenix tree with fresh, tender
leaves” (65–66) in Straw Houses; Tao Hui in Red Tiles has arms just like
“fresh lotus roots” (47); in the same novel, the petite, desirable figure of Ma
Shuiqing’s mother is likened to “tender green shoots” (24); and in Genniao
Jin Zhi’s waist reminds Genniao of “a fine willow branch” (69). Nature, as
the source and origin of all life forms, is replicated in the desirability and
fertility of the female body. In a way, the human-nature relationship is mim-
icked and played out in the male-female hierarchy.
Classical femininity is also conveyed through the female character’s artistic
flair, demonstrated chiefly through her beautiful voice, a gift for singing and
talents with musical instruments, which imparts the novels with a strong lyrical
and artistic quality. This applies to both adolescent and adult females. While
Zhi Yue sings beautifully, Tao Hui is a gifted actress. While Bai Que is a
talented singer and actress, Wen Youju plays melancholy Erhu tunes excep-
 The Feminine Other 287

tionally well. The list goes on to include Shu Min in Red Tiles, and Jin Zhi in
Genniao—all females who manage to attract male attention with impressive
artistic talents, which in turn endow them with a sentimental temperament.
Physical beauty and artistic flair alone are not sufficient to constitute the
classical beauty ideal. At a deeper level, this ideal contains a strong moral
imperative. In Cao’s novels, the physical desirability of females is often
equated with inner goodness and moral chastity. Beautiful women willingly
submit themselves to the charm and power of men whom they idolize. In some
extreme cases, their entire existence depends on male attention and salvation,
without which they inevitably perish. This results in a sense of tragic beauty
that characterizes Cao’s novels. Zhi Yue’s mother, the most beautiful young
woman in the village, commits suicide because the man who has impregnated
her never returns; Ma Shuiqing’s mother, a timid, adorable young lady in
Red Tiles, dies prematurely after years of lonely and hopeless waiting for
her husband to return home. Although these might be faithful portrayals of
women in rural China half a century ago, women who remained true and
loyal to their loved ones at the expense of their own lives, the narrative voice
is uncritical of such senseless sacrifices and seems to praise those qualities
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that make women objects of the male gaze. When describing the death of Ma
Shuiqing’s mother, for instance, the narrative is imbued, strikingly, with a
poetic, dream-like quality: “She falls into a long and quiet sleep by the river
side—amidst the clusters of lotus flowers—a sleep from which she would
never wake up” (27). That she perishes quietly by the side of lotus flowers
is a tribute to her virtue, for the lotus flower symbolizes purity and chastity
in the traditional Chinese rhetoric. If we juxtapose these seemingly “posi-
tive” characterizations with the not infrequent “negative” portrayals of adult
male characters in Cao’s novels, we will come to appreciate more fully the
ideological importance inherent in the author’s association of the good with
the feminine. Ironically, the discourse of morality, which on the surface sings
praises of the feminine, fetters the female characters to a subordinate position
in the male-defined patriarchal order.
If the aforementioned females are ordinary village women whose deaths
pay a tribute to the subservient ethics of the traditional culture, then the
representation of the intelligent Chinese teacher Ai Wen in Red Tiles reveals
that educated intellectual women are indeed no less different. Ai Wen, the
main character’s favorite teacher, has a sickly, pale look. She is described
as a lonely, unhappy woman when single, but the advent of marriage “puts
her on an even par with the happiest women in the world” (162). It also
produces an instant effect on both her complexion and her mood. Being a
wife brightens up her mood and brings a rosy tinge of happiness to her face.
She takes delight in the seemingly endless house chores, busying herself all
288 Lisa Chu Shen

day long with the laundry and the preparation of food. Thus, remarks the
narrative voice in an excited tone: “Men are such miraculous creatures—he
can make a woman healthy and happy” (162). It is therefore no surprise that
when the news of her husband’s accidental death arrives, Ai Wen is virtually
destroyed. She becomes as thin as a piece of paper and her eyes are devoid of
any luster or spirit. It is a loss from which she never truly recovers (163–64).
The narrative’s representation of Ai Wen’s complete submission to marriage
helps justify the logic and validity of classical femininity, which is evoked
along the lines of traditional Chinese sensibilities, and betrays the traditional
aesthetics and ethics that are fundamentally masculine, for in the Confucian
patriarchal system, men are the only speaking subjects and women are ex-
cluded from the male-defined society, its cultural system, and its educational
and representational systems including the literary and aesthetic tradition.

Heterosexual Desire and the Formation of

Male Identity and Consciousness

On the surface, femininity is equated with positive characteristics, as opposed

to the misogynistic attitude that defines the feminine as incomplete, unfulfilled,
or abject. It is, however, a powerful cultural narrative in which women are
sexualized, objectified and moralized, serving in the end to reaffirm the male-
female hierarchy through the naturalized institution of heterosexuality. In all
four novels, romantic feelings and relationships are represented as almost
always heterosexual. Sexual awakening, an important feature of the Western
Bildungsroman genre, is also experienced as an essential part of male com-
ing of age in Cao’s stories, albeit in a much subtler manner. The burgeoning
masculine consciousness is inevitably accompanied by heterosexual desires,
whereby the adolescent male protagonists start to notice and secretly desire
members of the opposite sex, a process that is almost always presented as
naturally occurring and very much taken for granted. The adolescent females,
on the other hand, are frequently cast as the counterpoint against which male
identities are established; and with their gentleness, naivety and purity, they
function as vital sources of romantic consolation. The female characters—Zhi
Yue in Straw Houses, Tao Hui in Red Tiles, Zi Yan (to whom we may add
Qiu Man and Jin Zhi) in Genniao, and Mei Wen in Ximi—all exist for the
same purpose: to facilitate the formation of masculine consciousness. The
ideal of classical femininity Cao endeavors to recreate is accordingly held
out as the object of masculine instincts and desire, an essential catalyst for
male coming of age.
In Straw Houses, protagonist Sang Sang is depicted as a slovenly and
mischievous boy before Zhi Yue comes into his life. After his very first
 The Feminine Other 289

encounter with the girl, however, Sang Sang’s transformation begins. The
sloppy protagonist becomes self-conscious of his own looks, which he is
determined to improve. When he asks his mother for a new coat, she is rather
surprised. “The sun has come out from the West,” she exclaims, “Even you
want to look good” (34–35). Every time he is tempted by the propensity for
mischief, Sang Sang sees Zhi Yue looking at him with her beautiful dark
eyes, and his better self prevails:
Zhi Yue . . . talks to Sang Sang with her eyes. When Sang Sang piles one desk
upon another and stands up on the top one, like performing an aerobatic feat,
to try to catch birds . . . he would see Zhi Yue’s . . . wide-open eyes filled with
anxiety . . . as if pleading: “Sang Sang, come down, please come down.” When
Sang Sang picks up a carrot straight from the cropland and starts biting on it
after giving it a cursory wipe on his sleeves, he would see Zhi Yue frowning
to him, as if asking: “Is a muddy carrot edible?” (38)

Thanks to Zhi Yue, the sloppy, mischievous, and irascible protagonist is

turned into a neat, tidy, and civil young boy. The same transformation occurs
in the protagonist, Ximi, in the novel Ximi. The feminine is thus represented
as that which tames the wild and unruly male.
While Sang Sang’s male instincts arise in relation to Zhi Yue, in Red Tiles
Lin Bing comes to recognize his masculine side through the object of his
secret desire: Tao Hui. Tao Hui’s attractiveness, however, lies mainly in her
pretty appearance, a beautiful voice and her meek personality. In a revealing
scene where the two are waiting in vain on the deck for their classmates to
come, Lin Bing notices that Tao Hui is trembling from cold:
Under the dim light, I saw her arms crossed tightly over her bosom. She
seemed very cold. I was hit by a sense of pity: “The wind is quite strong out
here on the deck. Come! Let’s warm ourselves inside the cabin!” Those words
sounded like an order, which took even myself by surprise.
What made me more surprised, however, was how Tao Hui obediently fol-
lowed my words. She rose up from the ground and headed toward the cabin,
with her blanket in her arms.
“I will carry it for you.” I came near her and grabbed the blanket from her
hands.
She did not object and walked meekly along in front of me. (53–54)

In this scene, Lin Bing, the narrator, uses the words “obediently” and
“meekly” to describe how the young girl of his desire willingly submits to
his “order” and protective gesture, which both surprises him and reinforces
his masculine consciousness. The scene demonstrates a clear accommoda-
tion of hegemonic patriarchal expectations for agreeable feminine behavior.
Compliance, in particular, is acknowledged as a desirable trait—rewarded
with male admiration. Indeed, throughout the novel, Tao Hui impresses the
reader with her physical beauty and submissive personality. She never speaks
 290 Lisa Chu Shen

much, and when she does, it is not to speak her own mind, but rather, to enlist
help or express consent. Her demeanor remains strictly within the bounds
of feminine civility. Although she is a talented actress, the roles she loves
to play and which she plays the best are the little sister and the submissive
wife. It is precisely these personality traits that add to her attractiveness in
the eyes of Lin Bing, and it is through such a process of “othering” that the
protagonist comes to reinforce his own sense of masculine identity.
In Ximi, the main character Ximi develops a strong crush on Mei Wen,
one of the educated young girls sent from the city of Suzhou to work in the
countryside. Mei Wen is the youngest and prettiest girl in the group, and
Ximi notices her from afar as the boat carrying the girls nears the village.
When the boat pulls to the shore, all the other girls get on to the deck with-
out difficulty, but Mei Wen, with her heavy luggage in hand, seems fearful
and hesitant. Again, the image of a pretty, vulnerable, and helpless young
girl stirs up something inside an otherwise shy Ximi, and he helps her with
her baggage. This initial encounter foreshadows their subsequent emotional
attachment to each other, an attachment that is eventually transformed into
his secret admiration for her.
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In all these cases, the desirable adolescent females display traditionally

recognized feminine traits upon which the establishment of masculine identi-
ties is predicated. As sociologist R. W. Connell contends,
Masculinity and femininity are inherently relational concepts, which have
meaning in relation to each other, as a social demarcation and a cultural op-
position. This holds regardless of the changing content of the demarcation in
different societies and periods of history. (44)

More than femininity, however, masculine identity, due to its long-established

supremacy in the patriarchal society, relies and thrives on the process of dif-
ferentiation and othering, and on the recognition of difference, which is almost
always hierarchical and understood in relation to “a set of ‘others’—racial
minorities, sexual minorities, and, above all, women” (Kimmel 182). How
then can such difference be accounted for? Does it not provide the rationale
for one group’s domination over another? From a feminist perspective, sexual
attraction can be interpreted as “eroticized power difference,” which involves
the eroticizing of power (male domination) and powerlessness (female sub-
ordination) (Kitzinger et al. 308). It has been argued that
Erotic excitement, according to patriarchal ideology, depends on the tension
created by setting men against women in a power struggle, setting them at
cross-purposes with conflicting interests that create the possibilities of vulner-
ability and domination. (Hunter 380)

Heterosexuality is thus largely conceptualized as a relationship between

vulnerable, powerless women and strong, powerful men. Therefore, despite
 The Feminine Other 291

the fact that the male protagonists are constantly portrayed as emotionally
sensitive, their masculine side nonetheless surfaces whenever called upon.
After all, physical aggression has been identified as “the single most evident
marker of manhood” (Kimmel 189). When Sang Sang realizes that Zhi Yue
is being bullied by three male children, his protective instincts prompt him
to come to her rescue by taking the bullies on, eventually managing to save
Zhi Yue from their assault. Although depicted as a sensitive and shy boy,
Lin Bing’s tough masculine side gets the better of him when he finds out
that one of his male classmates is trying to keep Tao Hui away from him.
He proposes a one-on-one fight, in which both characters end up severely
hurt, with blood dripping down their faces. Violent scenes occur in Ximi,
too. Faced with intense humiliation from his provoker, protagonist Ximi gets
into a bloody fight with the latter in an attempt to defeat his opponent and
redeem his own masculinity. It seems that for a male, desirability is inevi-
tably associated with being combative, which serves to assert and reinforce
the protagonists’ masculinity. Boys and men, in order to appear desirable,
notes Perry Nodelman, must “suggest aggression, strength and danger” (8).
Indeed, fighting and other forms of physical violence are seen as “signifiers
of hegemonic masculinity” (Renold 72). Biological differences between the
sexes have thus been neatly appropriated and projected onto the sociological
domain. Masculinity as a social construction seems to be grounded in the
biological but is surely not limited to the latter. When literary critic David
Leverenz suggests that “ideologies of manhood have functioned primarily
in relation to the gaze of male peers and male authority” (quoted from Kim-
mel 186), his assertion is rooted in the male-female dichotomy predicated
on biological differences, which in turn validate masculinity as a homosocial
enactment. In this process, women exist as currency for men to compete for,
to prove their superiority among other males.
Heterosexual desire, however, is represented as a double-edged sword for
the adolescent male. In celebrating its charms, the author also cautions against
its lures. In her critique of Cao’s novels, Lin singles out the “seducer” as an
important representative type among Cao’s female characters (32). While
facilitating male maturation, the feminine lure and seduction can threaten to
deter masculine development. In Genniao, a symbolic tale about the pursuit
of dreams, two female characters, Qiu Man and Jin Zhi, whom Genniao meets
on the way to pursue his dream, which is to come to the rescue of a beauti-
ful young girl, Zi Yan, represent the distractions that threaten to undermine
Genniao’s morale and undo his achievement. On the metaphorical journey to
rescue Zi Yan and therefore accomplish his goals, Genniao first encounters
Qiu Man and is welcomed into her wealthy family. Qiu Man’s beauty and
gentle character, and her family’s hospitality and comfortable lifestyle, are
292 Lisa Chu Shen

slowly eating away at Genniao’s spirit; for quite some time, he forgets about
his dream and enjoys his time with Qiu Man. As he moves on through his
journey, Genniao realizes that he has turned into a different person; feeling
lonely and fragile, he craves emotional comfort. When he runs into another
beautiful girl named Jin Zhi, he is instantly infatuated with her. Jin Zhi is
similarly the embodiment of delicate beauty, gentleness, vulnerability and
melancholia, posing as yet another significant hindrance to Genniao’s success.
In both cases, Genniao’s infatuation with the girls deprives him of his self-
sufficiency. One might say that his dependence on the feminine emotional
comfort threatens to emasculate him. Genniao’s eventual flight from them
represents his effort to negate that threat, thereby achieving his masculine
identity. In this novel, therefore, the feminine is cast in both literal and meta-
phorical terms. Male maturation denotes the pursuit of desires and goals and
the overcoming of temptations and obstacles, both of which are embodied,
interestingly, in female characters. In sexualizing the process of maturation,
Cao, in a rather unequivocal manner, also presents females as objects of
desire, distraction, and negativity, unto whom are projected male ambitions,
longings, anxieties, frustrations, and innermost fears. Females are represented,
therefore, as objects to be pursued, conquered, and simultaneously resisted
in the journey toward manhood.

Female Wisdom, Mentorship, and Male Maturation

While adolescent females represent objects of difference that arouse sexual

desires in males, adult female characters in these novels are frequently de-
picted as wise intellectual mentors who help the protagonists establish desired
value systems and achieve maturation both psychologically and intellectu-
ally. Mentorship, an important characteristic of the Western Bildungsroman,
presents itself as a persistent theme in Cao Wenxuan’s coming-of-age stories.
Intriguingly, the roles of the mentor are frequently taken up by female char-
acters. Deep connection and bonding occur on different levels—emotional,
psychological, spiritual, and intellectual. Kind, empathic, and wise, these
adult females are both friends and guides for the growing adolescent male.
Their existence temporarily casts the classical beauty ideal into doubt and
collapses the male-female binary opposition that has been established. The
consistent theme of heterosocial bonding in Cao’s novels disturbs the popu-
lar mechanism of homosociality that underlies hegemonic masculinity and
patriarchy, complicating Cao’s gender politics in important ways.
In Straw Houses, Sang Sang is fortunate to have his favorite female teacher,
Wen Youju, to guide him through his most difficult times. A soft-spoken,
frail young lady with a delicate constitution, Wen is a talented singer and
 The Feminine Other 293

Erhu player. Insofar as Sang Sang is obsessed with Wen’s sickly appearance
and her reliance on herbal medicine, the text embraces the classical version
of femininity. It is, however, the combination of melancholia, resilience and
strength of character that brings Sang Sang closer to her. Rather than project-
ing the compliance and submissiveness displayed by the female adolescents,
Wen is portrayed as a strong and determined woman. She does not enter the
plotline, however, until Sang Sang is diagnosed with what appears to be a
terminal disease:
“Are you scared?” she stares into the stove and the medicine pot when ask-
ing the question, without really looking at Sang Sang.
Sang Sang cannot tell if he is scared or not.
“Let me tell you my story,” Wen Youju starts to recall her own experience,
“I lost my parents at a young age and was brought up by my grandma. I will al-
ways remember my grandma, always. Not because she raised me, but because
she taught me the value of calmness and resilience in face of adversities. She
was not much of a talker, but there is something she said that has since stuck
with me wherever I am: Never be afraid. This is her only legacy to me, but it
remains invaluable even to this day.” (263–64)

In spite of her fragile constitution, Wen is an inspiration to Sang Sang, with

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her perseverance and fortitude guiding him through his darkest times. As Sang
Sang’s condition deteriorates, Wen opens her doors to him, stewing Chinese
medicine for him, telling him personal stories about herself, and singing songs
to boost his spirit. Wen is like a mother to Sang Sang, but more importantly,
she is an emotional and spiritual mentor who helps reform the protagonist’s
character by fostering in him fearlessness, courage, and humility. It is Wen
who teaches Sang Sang to face uncertainty with grace and integrity. Gentle
and frail-looking as she is, Wen imparts Sang Sang with a mystical power
and a sense of control over his own life.
For Lin Bing in Red Tiles, the young teacher Ai Wen provides intellectual
guidance that proves crucial to both his intellectual and personal development.
Ai Wen is not a pretty lady; she is extremely thin, and unlike the compli-
ant female characters, she does not seem to have an agreeable personality.
Despite her submission to marriage, she is portrayed as independent, wise,
insightful, and talented. Before she comes to teach the class, Lin Bing has
been praised by all the Chinese teachers for writing beautiful prose. Ai Wen,
however, sets an extremely high standard for Lin, criticizing him harshly for
his overly flowery language, and the lack of sincerity, insight, and genuine
emotions in his writings. Lin Bing feels embarrassed and humiliated at first.
Despite his initial resistance, however, he comes gradually to appreciate Ai
Wen’s criticisms, and is rather moved when she offers him access to her
personal book collection. In retrospect, the protagonist attributes his later
success as a writer to the female teacher’s mentorship, which transcends the
purely intellectual domain and reaches into all areas of his life:
294 Lisa Chu Shen

My chosen path in literature is due in large part to her enlightenment. My aes-

thetics, my way of doing things and even my principles of life carry traces of
her personality. Her tall, slim and fragile figure will continue to accompany me
until my last days in the world. For me, the most appropriate word to describe
her is—eternity. (130)

One may argue, as Cao’s critics have done, that these adult females exist
solely for their “nurturing quality” (Lin; Yang), rather than as a sign of em-
powerment in its own terms. It is indeed tempting to argue that adult females
are by and large “functional” despite having been cast in a positive light,
that their intellect, strength and determination, instead of being interpreted
as boundary-crossing in gender roles, serve to reinforce patriarchal ideology
in favor of hegemonic masculinity, for after all, the strengths of character
they display are what the patriarchal society demands that men acquire. It
is indeed true that such a gender (re)signification may not be an actual sign
of gender mobility. I wish, however, to raise the possibility that the mentor-
ship roles in Cao’s male coming-of-age narratives can easily be assumed by
adult male characters, in which case there will be no need to argue over the
potential implications of such arrangement. After all, male mentorship and
homosocial bonding characterize the traditional European Bildungsroman,
and the role of homosociality in the maintenance of hegemonic masculinity
and patriarchy has been noted and discussed by scholars (Sedgwick; Bird;
Kiesling). Cao, however, displaces such a mechanism with its reverse, with
implications for both female agency and the reframing of masculinity.
While considering the nurturing role in which the feminine is cast through
the thread of female mentorship, we must not ignore the possibilities such
characterizations may open up for female agency and power. In the novel
Ximi, published at a later date than the other three, the author presents an
intriguing situation where the young adult female character Mei Wen, who is
present throughout the novel, becomes both the object of desire and an intel-
lectual guide for Ximi whom she mentors and guides into young adulthood.
While the other three novels were all published in the late 1990s, Ximi first
came out in 2003. Compared with the explicitly invoked stereotypes in the
other three novels, Ximi embarks on a subtle revision,8 whether conscious or
not, in its representation of femininity—specifically, in its bold characteriza-
tion of the female character Mei Wen, who is a young lady with a strong
personality, great initiative, and agential power. Coming from a family of
artists, the young Mei Wen is impressed with Ximi’s wood carving which
is only treated, by all others, including Ximi’s parents, as a childish pastime
and even a destructive activity, for Ximi would cut randomly on any wood
furniture he could find. Mei Wen, however, recognizes Ximi’s potential, and
decides to guide him into the world of arts. She comes up with a plan to put
 The Feminine Other 295

Ximi’s art works on display in the city’s museum. When her painstaking ef-
forts fall through due to the museum’s eventual dismissal of what they deem
as only a child’s work, she is not afraid to stand up for Ximi, confronting
the authoritative figures with the dignity and courage of a smart young lady.
After the museum setback, Mei Wen does not falter and instead becomes
more determined to boost Ximi’s frustrated confidence:
Mei Wen bought a large piece of red silk . . . and designed a large banner, . . .
on which were inscribed these characters: Du Ximi’s Wood Carving Artwork
Display. . . . On the day of the exhibition, Mei Wen aligned Ximi’s best works
in the beautifully decorated room, in a manner which was obviously the result
of careful deliberation. She had even named all the works on display, which
achieved a miraculous effect. Because of the naming, these artworks seemed
to have acquired a life on their own. (117)

In various scenarios, Mei Wen’s initiative, daring spirit and the ability to
exercise reason leave the reader wondering if she is not the real protagonist
in the novel. Later in the story, Mei Wen’s resilience is foregrounded when
she loses both her parents in an accident. Indeed, the strengths of her character
are such that she almost features as a female protagonist vis-à-vis Ximi. It
is under Mei Wen’s encouragement and influence that Ximi matures, both
personally and intellectually, into early manhood.
It is true that all the adult female characters in Cao’s narratives exhibit
desirable feminine traits. At the same time, however, they are not devoid of
intellect and agency. Their actions are guided by a clear sense of purpose,
and their initiative and intelligence frequently overshadow both the male
protagonists and the adult male characters in the novels. Far from registering
the discourse of inferiority, then, the feminine Other becomes the superior
Other. That the novels foreground female wisdom and mentorship is signifi-
cant, for it challenges the prevalent association of intellect with masculinity,
and disturbs the popular conception of male comradeship, guidance and
homosocial bonding, which underlie hegemonic masculinity and patriarchal
relations of power. Regrettably, critics of Cao have largely lost sight of the
consistent thread of female mentorship, its potentially positive implications
and all the attendant possibilities.
If the invocation of classical femininity registers dominant cultural ex-
pectations of femininity, I wish to argue, then, that the attention called to
female mentorship and hence heterosociality not only counterbalances the
rigid forms of femininity but also releases possibilities for an alternative vi-
sion of the masculine. This alternative vision is characterized by emotional
sensitivity and empathy, which, significantly, enables and is, in turn, enabled
by feminine identification. The process of modernization in China, facilitated
by the concomitant process of Westernization, has witnessed gradual shifts
 296 Lisa Chu Shen

in the conceptions of ideal masculinity, which is increasingly measured in

terms of modern Western standards. Historically and developmentally, mas-
culinity in the modern Western culture is frequently defined in opposition to
femininity, regarded as “the flight from women, the repudiation of femininity”
(Kimmel 185). Contemporary Chinese imagination of desirable manhood,
inevitably influenced by dominant Western discourses, also establishes the
ideal man as tough, independent, and emotionally detached. The reifica-
tion of the Westernized notion of masculinity, however, is being revised in
Cao’s novels through the consistent theme of male-female bonding. Despite
the occasional bouts of physical aggression, Sang Sang, Lin Bing and Ximi
are all represented as shy, sensitive, and emotional young boys who blush
and shed tears, who feel deeply and empathetically about the happenings in
their own lives and in the lives of others, and it is these personality traits
that make the male-female bonds possible in the first place. In Red Tiles, Lin
Bing rejoices in shedding tears:
I leaned against the cold railings and started to cry, silently. My eyes followed
the trajectory of my tears. . . . My heart saddened—this had been my favorite
thing to do before the age of twenty. Every time I was scolded or beaten up
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by my parents, I would sit alone on the doorstep or by the riverside and savor
the sadness with a calm piece of mind. My heart felt sour, so was my nose.
Tears flooded my eyes and poured into my mouth. Then, I tasted the saltiness
of my tears with considerable conscientiousness. (51)

The delicate temperament of Cao’s male protagonists imbues his novels with
compassion and sensitivity. In this sense, Cao’s stories negotiate tenuously
with prevailing assumptions of what it means to be masculine. His portrayals
of the male protagonist carry reminiscences of his own childhood years in the
1960s and 70s China. A bookish boy who went on to become a prolific writer
and literary critic, Cao invokes the premodern Chinese model of masculinity
known as wen (literary, or scholastic), as in the wen-wu (literary-martial) di-
chotomy, which has been discussed extensively by Kam Louie in theorizing
premodern Chinese masculinities. The figure of the sensitive young scholar
haunts Cao’s constructions of the male protagonist, with Lin Bing as the most
conspicuous example. This argument about Cao’s construction of masculinity
warrants a full-length essay on its own terms. For now, it suffices to infer that
Cao’s classicist taste may have extended to the conception of the masculine
in addition to the feminine in the realm of gender.9 However, while both wen
and wu masculinities are constructed in premodern China to the complete
exclusion of women, the figure of the sensitive male protagonist in Cao’s
novels is in constant need of encouragement and illumination from strong
female role models, and due to his own sensitivity, is capable of forming
valuable and deep-running bonds with the female Other.
 The Feminine Other 297

Conclusion

It is no mere coincidence that the adolescent female characters who enter

the life trajectories of the male protagonists in all four novels seem to come
from the same mold, sharing similar stereotypical attributes of beauty,
fragility, gentleness, timidity and purity, the fantasized embodiment of the
classical beauty ideal seen through masculine lens. Their subjectivities and
individual consciousness are defined in relation to the life experiences of
the male counterparts to whom their existence provides infinite consolation.
Desirable feminine traits are valorized, which reaffirm the traditional notion
of femininity and heteronormativity that underlie the patriarchal order. Dis-
courses of gender dichotomy and heterosexuality remain prevailing in Cao’s
narratives. Although heterosexuality is normalized for young adult readers and
represented as an inevitable path to male coming of age, it is, nevertheless,
approached with a certain degree of wariness and caution. In many cases,
it appears that the representations of the feminine Other in Cao’s novels
betray their deep implication in maintaining prevalent gender ideologies and
normative gender binaries. Such implication, however, may not have been
intended or consciously pursued by the author himself, but rather, serves as a
reflection of the powerful hold of traditional cultural narratives. The ideology
of classical femininity is temporarily cast into doubt, however, when wise
adult female mentors are introduced and with whom male protagonists con-
nect and identify on various levels. In this regard, Cao’s novels deviate from
conventional coming-of-age narratives where femininity and masculinity are
treated as purely oppositional, and which attempt to place girls and boys in
the “right and proper” places as they enter the adult world.
Despite the heteronormative gender constructions, Cao’s novels are also
riddled with inner tensions. Admittedly, the narratives attempt to recuperate
certain stereotypes about femininity, such recuperation, however, is always
tinged with a profound and idealized nostalgia for the irredeemable past, and is
thus forever at odds with the real-life situations that contest the reified gender
ideologies. Situated within the cultural flux of contemporary China, Cao’s
novels, as much as they attempt to recycle conventional notions of femininity,
serve as a reflection of the ways in which heterosociality and diverse forms
of gender relations are mapped onto the adolescent experience. Adolescent
readers will be alerted to the frequent presence of female wisdom and men-
torship that can potentially interrogate male supremacy and homosociality.
They may also come to see the persistent theme of male-female bonding that
transcends purely oppositional relations of power and unleashes possibilities
for (re)signifying masculinity toward its more sensitive counterpart.
298 Lisa Chu Shen

Lisa Chu Shen researches the fields of comparative literature and cultural
studies at Shanghai Jiao Tong University, with a special focus on children’s
and adolescent literature and culture. She is currently working on the gendered
construction of childhood and young adulthood in contemporary Chinese
novels for young readers. The present article “The Feminine Other” arises
out of a major research project funded by the National Social Science Fund
of China (Grant Number: 17ZDA281).

Notes
1
Hua Li uses chengzhang xiaoshuo in her discussion of Su Tong’s and Yu Hua’s
coming-of-age narratives. In Li’s study, Chengzhang xiaoshuo is not confined to the
full-length novel, but also includes the novella and the short story, and it is used
as the Chinese counterpart to Bildungsroman. Indeed, xiaoshuo in its broad sense
characterizes the fictive nature of narratives and is not necessarily limited to the
full-length novel.

2
I have chosen to adopt the term coming-of-age narratives (or novels) rather than
chengzhang xiaoshuo because the Chinese term has a much wider scope—chengzhang
xiaoshuo also includes what is traditionally known as the Entwicklungsromane in the
European context, which refers to novels of development where the protagonist grows
but “has not reached adulthood by the end of the narrative” (Trites 10). Chengzhang
xiaoshuo is then best translated as “development narratives,” for chengzhang refers
to the general process of a child’s socialization and maturation.

3
Insofar as the Entwicklungsromane is a general term that refers to the development
and maturation of the child protagonist, some scholars in the West have attempted
to categorize the Bildungsroman as a subgenre of the Entwicklungsromane instead
(Hardin xvi). It has been generally agreed, however, that the Bildungsroman priori-
tizes interiority and inner growth more than the Entwicklungsromane, which is less
emotionally and intellectually charged (Swales 14).

4
This essay discusses the latest, updated versions of the four novels rather than
their first editions. When it was first published, Red Tiles, Black Tiles was entitled Red
Tiles (Hongwa). In the case of this novel, there have also been changes to characters
and plotlines. Genniao and Ximi are both the names of the male protagonists in the
novels, and are therefore not translated.

5
Qingtong Kuihua (2005) has been translated into English as Bronze and Sunflower
(2015) by Helen Wang and published by Walker Books Ltd.

6
The Beijing School of modern Chinese writers, known as Jingpai in Chinese, is a
loosely connected group of writers in the late 1920s and 1930s China based primarily
in the country’s northern cities such as Beijing and Tianjin. The writers of this school,
 The Feminine Other 299

including Shen Congwen (1902–88), Zhou Zuoren (1885–1967), Fei Ming (1901–67),
Lin Huiyin (1904–55), Ling Shuhua (1900–90), Zhu Guangqian (1897–1986) and
Xiao Qian (1910–99), to name the most prominent figures, made a conscious effort
to distance literature from politics in the heyday of Chinese nationalism, and were
intent on pursuing the authentic aesthetic features of literature. With its depoliticizing
agenda and its consistent attention to aesthetics, the Beijing School of writers is often
juxtaposed against the nationalist and revolutionary-minded League of the Left-Wing
writers (Zuoyi) and the commercialized, cosmopolitan-minded Shanghai School of
modern Chinese writers (Haipai).

7
I have translated all the quotations from Cao’s Chinese-language novels into
English. Among the four novels, Straw Houses (Cao Fangzi) has been translated into
English by Sylvia Yu, Julian Chen and Christopher Malone as The Straw House and
published by Long River Press.

8
This argument based on the publication dates, however, can be complicated, or
even disputed, by the fact that Ximi is an expanded adaptation of Cao’s award-winning
short story “Zaijianle, Wo de Xiao Xingxing” (Farewell My Star) first published in
1985. In Qi’s comparison of the two versions, it is pointed out that little has changed
with the plot except that Cao censored the original story and omitted the episode of an
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attempted rape against the female protagonist in Ximi (58). I would argue, however,
that a comparison between a short story and a lengthy novel based seemingly on the
“same” plot runs the risk of oversimplification, which could potentially subsume
many possible differences. The short story “Farewell My Star,” for instance, does
not contain the episodes about the museum or the private exhibition arranged by Mei
Wen discussed in this article (in the short story, the male protagonist’s talent lies in
painting rather than woodcarving). In other words, while the novel foregrounds Mei
Wen’s positive personality traits in vivid details, the short story does not.

9
Since this article is on the representations of the female Other, I will not explore
in detail Cao’s constructions of masculinities and boyhood. I will discuss how Cao’s
concept of the masculine is mediated by premodern Chinese conceptions of masculin-
ity in another essay on alternative masculinities and the construction of sentimental
boyhood, and reveal how masculinity has become a contesting ground for cultural
ideas and ideals in the process of China’s modernization and globalization, and how
Cao’s male development novels (chengzhang xiaoshuo) in general mirror this ongoing
contestation and negotiation.

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